


Burning Up, Burning Down

by uena



Series: The Road to Hell (is Paved With Good Intentions) [4]
Category: The Tomorrow People (2013)
Genre: Dirty Bad Wrong, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not in pain this time. He really isn't. But he isn't exactly fine, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Up, Burning Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hope_calaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_calaris/gifts).



The second time feels … different. They tried an altered formula, added some new components, integrated something to dull the pain. They told John all the details, but chemistry has never been one of his strong suits.

He doesn’t need to know what’s in the syringe they empty into his neck. It wouldn’t make a difference either way.

He waits for the pain to start, and when it does it’s startling in a way that it doesn’t hurt so much as it _burns_ – an intense heat spreading throughout his body, his blood boiling in his veins.

It has been hours since they gave him the drugs, hours he spent believing it wouldn’t affect him so much this time, that he could cope.

He can’t.

For a few seconds he can’t even move.

He starts clawing at his clothes, trying to get them off, trying _anything_ to reduce the heat, but his fingers are clumsy, and the tears in his eyes make it impossible to properly coordinate his movements.

He stumbles into the bathroom and into the shower, his naked feet feeling miles away, floundering and unsteady, as if they don’t belong to him. He fumbles for the handle and blindly turns on the cold water. He moans when it hits his face.

His clothes are soaked in seconds, cling to his body, heavy and cold, and it feels so _good_ in a way he’s never experienced before. He sinks to the floor, his back to the cool tiles and spreads his legs, dreamily blinks away the water drops in his lashes.

He feels … loose, helpless and happy to be so, and he can’t stop rubbing his palms across his thighs, fascinated by the contrast between the heat in his body and the cold, wet fabric of his jeans.

He doesn’t know how much time passes until Jedikiah finds him.

The cold water is still running, icy drops raining onto his head, running over his cheeks, down his neck, and it still feels good, heady and _sensual_.

Jedikiah turns it off. John moans in protest.

“Jesus, John,” he hears him mutter, “what are you doing?”

He grabs John underneath his arms and pulls him to his feet – catches him when John stumbles forward and into him. His sudden warmth hits John like a kick to the chest, and it’s painful in a completely new way, addictive and strangely reassuring.

It only lasts for a few seconds, and then Jedikiah is pulling at John’s t-shirt, trying to get it off of John, and John doesn’t have the energy to help him, is far too absorbed into holding on to Jedikiah’s shoulders.

“You’re freezing,” Jedikiah says, his voice quiet, worried. “How long have you been here?”

John sways into him again, presses his face into Jedikiah’s neck, and the heat is intoxicating. He barely registers Jedikiah ripping the back of his t-shirt and dragging it off his body.

“We need to get you warm,” Jedikiah says, and then his arms encircle John.

The fabric of Jedikiah’s suit is warm and soft against John’s back, the sensation only surpassed by the deliciously painful heat of his chest against John’s naked torso.

John’s hips push up and forward all by themselves, and Jedikiah lowers his arms, puts steadying hands on them, keeps them still.

“Warm and dry and into bed,” he decides, and then his hands move to the front of John’s jeans, open them. He grabs the waistband and pushes, and John doesn’t even notice his shorts going down with them, until he feels the cold air against his naked backside.

He’s too far gone to care.

He steps out of his jeans and underwear, unsteady on his legs, but too focused on Jedikiah to notice. Jedikiah grabs a towel off the rack and envelops John in it, rubs him dry with decisive, methodical movements.

It feels like fire on John’s skin.

“It’s too hot,” he groans, his voice rough, sounding foreign to his own ears. “Please … please stop.”

Jedikiah stops immediately, and the towel drops to the floor.

“They cleared you,” he says – then he puts his hand on John’s forehead. “You don’t feel particularly feverish, either.”

John closes his eyes and keeps still. It doesn’t matter that Jedikiah’s hands are too hot, branding him. Being touched anchors him, stops the spinning heat in his gut and gives it an outlet. “So hot,” he moans.

“I’m not … hurting you, am I?” Jedikiah sounds unsettled, and he takes his hand away.

It feels like falling backwards into deep water.

John’s breath hitches, and he lunges forward, barrels into Jedikiah’s chest and clings to him. “Don’t … don’t let go …”

For a few seconds the world around him seems to freeze.

Nothing moves, there’s no air left in the room.

Jedikiah’s heartbeat is steady below his ear.

“Not letting go,” he says. “Never letting go.”

John buries his fingers in the front of his shirt, feels the answering touch of Jedikiah’s hands on his back. His body is now so hot that it should by rights be melting, and John moulds himself to Jedikiah’s broader frame, reaches around him and presses close, banishes the air from between their bodies.

Jedikiah’s arms lock around him, pull him even closer. “Is this … is this better? Is this helping you?”

“Yes,” John whispers, pushing his hips up, grabbing fistfuls of Jedikiah’s shirt. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath. “This is … this is good.”

“Okay then.”

Jedikiah keeps his arms around John, does nothing to still the movement of his hips, and John can’t stop himself from pushing up and into him, again and again.

His head is swimming, his skin glowing with need, and he’s only seconds away from release when he feels Jedikiah’s lips on his forehead. “I’m going to stop you now.”

The sound coming out of John’s mouth is ragged and desperate. “Please, Sir, please, just let me -”

“John,” Jedikiah’s arms loosen around him, and one hand glides down over John’s back and comes to rest on his left hip. “You are not in control of your body right now. I can’t let you -“

John stretches up, desperate and needy, and his lips meet Jedikiah’s. That’s it. That’s all it takes.

John moans against Jedikiah’s lips, and the burning in his body turns into a warm buzz, lazy and content. He sags, breathing hard, presses his face into Jedikiah’s neck.

“Oh.” Jedikiah’s voice is soft against John’s ear, and he’s holding him up, one hand still on his hip, warm and reassuring. John wants to kiss him again.

“I suppose I have myself to blame for this.”

Jedikiah moves, letting warm air in between them, keeping John away with a hand to his chest as he tries to push close again.

“Just,” he clears his throat, “let me clean up first.”

John blinks and nods, licks his lips. “Yeah. Okay.”

He watches Jedikiah grab a washcloth and drag it across the mess on his suit, bites his lip and lets his eyes close for a few seconds. He hears Jedikiah moving around, hears running water, and it almost lulls him into sleep.

“You know what? This has gone so far already, I’m taking care of you, too.”

And then the washcloth is on John, on his belly, rubbing little hot circles into his skin. His eyes fly open and he stares down, stares down to where Jedikiah’s hand is pressing the washcloth to his body, just above his –

“The way you’re staring right now makes me regret my rather rash decision, John.”

John has trouble lifting his gaze, but he manages, slowly and slightly unfocused. Once he reaches Jedikiah’s face, the world drops away from him.

Jedikiah’s serious expression turns soft, and he lifts his free hand to John’s face, spreads warm fingers across his cheek. “I am putting you to bed now, John.”

John turns his face into Jedikiah’s hand, lets his lips drag across his palm.

“I am putting you to bed right this minute.” Jedikiah grabs his elbow and pulls him to his side, marches him into his bedroom.

John stumbles along like a young deer, his legs too long for his body, his knees weak. He is exhausted, tired, feels oversensitive, a bit lost.

Jedikiah leads him to his bed, waits a few seconds for him to sit down, then gently forces him onto the mattress with a warm hand on John’s shoulder. When John looks up at him, there’s a warm light in his eyes, a smile around the corners of his mouth.

“Get into bed, John.”

John feels a smile stretch across his face. “I am in bed.”

“Don’t get smart with me now. Just lie down.”

So John tries, but his arms and legs refuse to cooperate. He flails sideways, almost hits his head on the top of the bed. Jedikiah catches him, helps him stretch out on the mattress.

Then he sits down next to him, puts his hand on John’s chest, over his heart. “The next time the drugs make you feel … anything unexpected, you call me, okay? I don’t want to find you disoriented in a corridor, or fully dressed in the shower – ever again. Understood?”

John nods and bites his lip. “I am sorry.”

Jedikiah sighs. “Don’t be. About anything that happened today. I’m the one who should be sorry. We will talk about this once you feel more like yourself. Properly, this time.”

He looks down at John, makes a move to grab the comforter from the foot of the bed and hesitates. “Do you want to … cover up?”

John shakes his head. “Still hot”, he murmurs drowsily.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Jedikiah’s mouth. “I see. Sleep tight, John.”

John is asleep before Jedikiah has left the room.


End file.
